


m.m. does not stand for mother-mama

by rathalos



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: F/F, Fluff, KHR Obscure Ship Week, Sleepovers, also trans boy fran, i didn't follow any of the prompts because my creative vision was too strong, not relevant but you know i will always put this tag, sorry !!, trans girl chrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:48:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27675599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rathalos/pseuds/rathalos
Summary: “Mother, why,” Fran deadpans, collapsing.M.M. gets up, dusting herself off and shooting a glare at Fran. “I’m not your mother. Stop calling me that.”“Well, obviously,” Fran says. “Chrome’s my mom too. The M in Chrome stands for mom. You’re my mothers. I’m your baby. And you hate me.”
Relationships: Chrome Dokuro & Flan | Fran, Chrome Dokuro/M.M., Flan | Fran & M.M.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	m.m. does not stand for mother-mama

**Author's Note:**

> chrome/mm brain rot hours :)

It’s quiet in the living room of Chrome’s apartment.

While M.M. idly surfs the internet on her laptop, Chrome flicks through channels on the television, occasionally stopping to watch a few minutes of whatever catches her eye. She seems to be doing her best to look engaged, but M.M. can tell she’s bored.

The only other occupant of the room is Fran, lying facedown on the couch and appearing, for all intents and purposes to be asleep. M.M. doesn’t buy it, though. Not for a second. Fran has pulled this trick on her _way_ too many times for her to even entertain the thought that he might be sleeping for real.

Instead of returning her attention to her computer, M.M. glances at the little clock sitting on the lone, rickety end table next to her chair. She reads _10:27_ off its dim red display, and grimaces when she realizes she’s completely lost track of the time.

“Hey, Chrome,” she says, barely suppressing the urge to yawn.

“Yeah, Em?” Chrome responds softly, obviously in an attempt to keep Fran from waking up—which, yeah, that would be fair, if M.M. hadn’t _just_ seen Fran crack an eye open and look directly at her. “What’s up?”

“It’s pretty late,” M.M. says, shutting her laptop. She stretches her legs, wincing when her joints pop. That was loud _._ “I need to get home. But thanks for, uh. Thanks for letting me stay here for so long.”

She stows her laptop in the bag she’d brought over, not even waiting for a response from Chrome before she stands. God, her back is stiff. But that’s just what she gets for sitting sideways in the recliner.

“You could… um.” Chrome’s voice gently interrupts her train of thought—not so much derailing it as nudging it aside.

After a short silence, Chrome responds. She seems to be working up to her words. M.M. waits.

“Stay… stay the night?” Chrome eventually suggests, fingers tangling in the hem of her skirt. M.M. blinks, and Chrome immediately backpedals. “I—you don’t have to. I just thought it m-might be easier. For you. Instead of walking, um, walking all the way home in the dark. I know I wouldn’t, uh… want… to.”

“It could work,” M.M. allows. “Don’t overexplain y—”

“Sleepover?”

M.M. sighs. Of course Fran would “wake up” as soon as someone mentions anything he would even be remotely interested in.

“Go back to sleep,” she orders, more exhausted than exasperated, and knowing full well he's not going to listen.

“Sleepover,” Fran presses, turning a completely dead-faced look on her. He slides off the couch and onto the floor, a child-shaped heap of limbs and oversized clothing, and then rolls toward M.M., coming to a stop at her feet. M.M. makes no attempt to hide her disdain. “Hey.”

“What?” she asks, long resigned to… whatever this is.

“Sleepover,” Fran insists. He grabs her ankle, prompting her to shake him off with maybe a bit more force than necessary.

M.M. will admit, it’s a _little_ cute how badly Fran wants her to stay. Enough so that he’s actively trying to keep her here instead of adopting his usual “do whatever you want, I don’t care” attitude.

She hadn’t needed much convincing anyway—the more time spent with Chrome, the better—but she would never refuse a handy excuse. Just in case Chrome asks her why and she has to talk about feelings, or whatever.

“If you insist,” M.M. says, voice taking on a lofty tone. “Now get up.”

“‘Kay,” Fran agrees, picking himself up. He ambles back over towards the couch, plopping down onto it with so much force that it makes Chrome bounce too. “Professor Stinky gave us a spare futon—” Huh. So they _do_ have one. “—so you can use that one or whatever. Can we all camp out in the living room?”

“I… don’t see why not,” Chrome says, getting up off the couch and beckoning for Fran to follow her. “But you’re helping me get everything set up.”

*

It takes about twenty minutes for the three of them to finish getting everything ready. M.M. spends a portion of that time getting changed into a pair of (Chrome’s) pajamas and brushing her teeth with one of the many spare toothbrushes Fran keeps around. He won’t tell her why he has fifteen brand-new, unopened toothbrushes in his nightstand, and at this point, M.M. is probably better off not knowing.

While M.M. is rinsing her mouth out, Chrome steps into the bathroom with a muttered apology, and for the next few minutes, she has to suffer through the stifling awkwardness of brushing elbows with Chrome in front of the bathroom mirror while the two of them carry on with their nightly routines.

M.M. tries her best to focus on taking her hair clips out instead of looking at Chrome, who’s carefully undoing the knot on her eyepatch. It’s… not as though M.M. hasn’t seen Chrome without her eyepatch on before—it just feels… too private.

M.M. shakes her head, clenches her fist around her hair clips, and heads out to the living room, giving Chrome a brief wave on her way past the door.

While she’d been in the bathroom, evidently, Chrome and Fran had been productive. They’d dragged their mattresses off the bed frames and pushed them together on the living room floor, and to the right of those, M.M.’s futon is laid out haphazardly between Fran’s mattress (she knows it’s Fran’s—both because she’d bought him those apple-print sheets as a gag gift, and because it’s about half the size a normal bed should be) and the couch, almost like an afterthought.

…Hmm. Fran kicks in his sleep. Viciously.

“Hey, Em,” Fran says.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Oh, right,” he says, flopping back onto the mattress. “I forgot that’s your super special nickname only Chrome can call you.”

M.M. twitches. “She’s not supposed to call me that either.”

“You haven’t stopped her.”

“Fran,” M.M. says, stepping forward menacingly. Fran scrambles back a little. Good. “Do you wanna keep talking?”

“Nope!” he says, immediately diving under the covers, a tiny lump underneath three thick comforters.

“...Hmm.” M.M. doesn’t think Fran will stick to his word, but it’s better than nothing.

Chrome comes back out into the living room a few minutes later, face slightly damp and looking freshly-scrubbed. Her eyes nearly glow with quiet, content peace as she surveys the living room. M.M. forgets herself for a moment, intent as she is on studying Chrome’s face—when Chrome makes eye contact with her, it takes a while for M.M.’s brain to kick into gear.

“… Are you really making Fran sleep in the middle?” is the first thing M.M. can scrounge up to say. “You want me to get kicked by him?”

Chrome raises her eyebrows, perhaps a little surprised at the complaint M.M.’s raising. “Well… it might be a little hard to move the beds around… but Fran could switch with me… he doesn’t tend to kick as much when he’s sleeping next to me.”

Fran pokes his head out from under the blankets, hair ruffled and sticking up haphazardly every which way. “You’re only saying that ‘cause y—mmph!”

“Um.” Chrome fidgets with the hem of a shirt, seeming at a loss for words. “Is everything… okay?”

“Don’t worry about it,” M.M. says sweetly, keeping her hand firmly clamped over Fran’s mouth, even when he licks her palm in an attempt to dislodge. She’s gonna _get_ him for that. “I’ll help you swap the beds around.”

“Oh—okay.” Chrome gives Fran and M.M. one hesitant, scrutinizing look, like she wants to say something but isn’t sure what. After a moment of deliberation she shrugs, coming over and crouching in front of her mattress. “Em?”

M.M. wipes her hand on Fran’s shoulder and stands. “I’m coming, I’m coming!”

Right as she and Chrome are about to pick up her mattress, Fran flops over onto it. “Wait,” he says, looking up at Chrome with a blank expression.

“What?”

“I have to sleep in the middle,” he says.

“Wh—no you don’t,” M.M. says, giving her end of the mattress a little shake. Fran turns his head toward her, but doesn’t react otherwise. “Get off.”

“I… I’m your child,” he says. “You’re not even gonna let me sleep next to you? Don’t you love me?”

M.M.’s face scrunches up in disgust. “No. I hate you. Now get off the mattress.”

“But—”

She shakes the mattress more forcefully, enough to jostle Fran. “Off.”

He rolls to the side, back onto his own bed, lying facedown on the heap of blankets. “I’m sad.”

“I know,” M.M. says. Chrome counts down to three, and the two of them lift the mattress, moving it out of the way so they can slide Fran’s over. “That’s a good thing.”

“You can’t do this,” Fran complains, fully expressionless as he stands. M.M. raises an eyebrow. “I’m gonna stop you.”

“No, you’re not—ACK—”

M.M. drops her corner of the mattress, losing her balance as Fran collides with her. Her worldview tilts; the last thing she sees before her vision is obscured by the shitty brown carpet decorating the living room floor is Chrome reaching out, slightly concerned, lips parted into a surprised _o_.

“Listen to me,” Fran says, wrapping his arms around M.M. like a koala. “I have to sleep in the middle. I’m your baby—”

“You are not my baby,” M.M. says, voice slurred since her cheek is pressed against the floor. “Chrome, can you get him under control?”

“S… sorry,” Chrome apologizes. “I don’t think I can do anything. If it’s any consolation, I, um, I think it means he cares?”

“I know what M.M. stands for,” announces Fran, completely ignoring the both of them. “I figured it all out.”

No, he doesn’t.

“No, you don’t,” M.M. says, struggling a little. Damn, his grip is tight. Little shit.

“It stands for Mother-Mama,” Fran says. “You can’t hide anything from me.”

“ _Fran_ ,” M.M. growls. “I am going to bite you. Get. Off. Me.”

“And that’s why you have to let me sleep in the mid—”

“Fine!” M.M. exclaims. “Do whatever you want. Just let me go.”

Like a switch has been flipped, Fran instantly lets go of her, standing and offering a hand to help her up. M.M. takes it, and pulls him down.

“Mother, why,” Fran deadpans, collapsing.

M.M. gets up, dusting herself off and shooting a glare at Fran. “I’m not your mother. Stop calling me that.”

“Well, obviously,” Fran says. “Chrome’s my mom too. The M in Chrome stands for mom. You’re my mothers. I’m your baby. And you _hate_ me.”

“Damn right I…”

Hold on a minute. Mothers? She and Chrome? Like...

M.M. makes eye contact for a split second, long enough to flush bright red at least, and then quickly glances away again. No. _No._

(Like… _married_ mothers?)

From the look Fran’s giving her, he has _absolutely_ locked on to M.M.’s thought process, but mercifully—though it only makes her think he has some kind of ulterior motive for not immediately pouncing on her momentary weakness—doesn’t call her on it.

“Damn right I hate you,” M.M. finishes. She sighs. “Come on, Chrome. I guess we’d better move this thing back.”

*

“Fran.” M.M.’s voice comes out flat, unimpressed.

“What?”

Chrome clears her throat. “I would... ah... appreciate if you let go of me.”

“Huh?” Fran tightens his grip on Chrome’s waist. “Why? You hate me or something?”

“No,” Chrome says quickly, patting Fran on the head. “I don’t hate you. We just need to go to bed now.”

“You hate me,” Fran repeats, burying his face in his hands. “I’m broken.”

“What do you want?” M.M. asks.

Fran peeks out from behind his fingers, making an expression that comes close to but falls a little short of hopeful. “Bedtime story?”

M.M. sighs, for what’s probably the hundredth time tonight. “What kind of bedtime story?”

“He always asks for The Ugly Duckling,” Chrome says, absentmindedly playing with Fran’s hair. “I have it memorized. He likes to make fun of the... uh, the duckling.”

“Ugly fucker,” Fran says.

“FRAN!”

“Jeez, sorry, mother,” Fran says, rolling off of Chrome’s lap and back onto his own bed. He wraps his three blankets, as well as the one he’d stolen from M.M., around himself, until only his head is poking out. “I know you don’t love me, but you didn’t have to take it that far. Anyways, M.M. told me Mukuro isn’t actually watching to see if I swear or not.”

“M.M.,” Chrome sighs, giving her a reproachful look.

“I just—” M.M. cuts herself off. This isn’t worth it. She’s not even going to ask for her blanket back. “You know what? Whatever. Listen to the story. Go to bed.”

She turns away from Chrome and Fran, attempting to relax as Chrome starts to speak.

Occasionally Fran interjects with some vicious insult—“Stupid idiot,” or, “Did he try not being ugly?” or, “If I was one of the ducklings I’d make fun of him too,” or, “Mom, you’re reading too slow, I’m getting bored,” or, “Can this guy get pretty already?”—but as the fairy tale wraps up, and the ugly duckling transforms into an elegant swan, Fran begins to wind down.

M.M. gets the feeling Fran enjoys this story more than he lets on.

When Fran’s eyes slip shut, and his breathing evens off, M.M. is reasonably sure he’s actually sleeping this time.

“Em,” Chrome whispers. M.M. hears the sound of rustling fabric—footsteps—and a dark shape in front of her vision. Chrome sits down next to her, legs folded underneath herself, blanket clutched to her chest. “Sorry about—about before.”

“What, the mattresses?” M.M. asks, equally hushed.

“Y-Yeah.”

“I’m not—” M.M. breaks off. “Chrome, I’m not upset about that. I can put up with Fran thrashing around in his sleep.”

“Oh,” Chrome says. “Oh, that’s. That’s good.”

“Yeah,” M.M. says. She swallows.

There’s silence for a few minutes—not the awkward kind, where M.M.’s afraid to say anything for fear of messing it up with Chrome, but the sleepy kind. Her eyes sting slightly every time she closes them, and she feels warm even without her blanket.

Fran is full-on snoring at this point, the only sound in an otherwise completely quiet room, which casts a little suspicion over M.M.’s belief that he’s asleep, but at this point, it’s not worth wondering about.

“Hey,” M.M. says.

Chrome’s response is delayed. “Yeah?”

M.M. scoots backwards, patting the space beside her. “Here.”

“Oh... You want me to, uh...?” Chrome trails off quietly, shifting toward M.M. She’s not quite accepting the offer, but clearly she’s thinking about it. “Really?”

M.M. laughs, though the sound is closer to a puff of breath than a real giggle.

“I don’t do things I don’t want to do, Chrome,” she says quietly, unable to rid herself of a silly grin.

Chrome hums. The blob of darkness in front of her moves again, closer, and this time she does lie down, slowly, gingerly, a little bit awkwardly like she doesn’t know where to place her limbs.

She reaches out and pats Chrome on the cheek, gently enough that after she pulls her hand away, she wonders if she’d even done it.

“There we go,” M.M. says.

“A-ah. I… noticed Fran stole your blanket,” Chrome says, stuttering over her words. “Do you…?”

“Mhm.”

Gingerly, Chrome reaches out and hands M.M. a corner of the blanket. It takes a little work and some figuring out, but the two of them eventually manage to fit themselves under the comforter. She has to tangle her legs together with Chrome’s, and the two of them are close enough that M.M. only has to shift in place to brush against the other girl, but it’s not like she minds.

M.M. expects not to be able to fall asleep easily—whenever she comes this close to Chrome, she’s usually keyed up, unsure of how to act, teetering along the edge of mean or nice—but in the end, sleep overtakes her before she even knows it.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr: [takeshiyamamoto](https://takeshiyamamoto.tumblr.com)
> 
> this is part of an event called [KHR Obscure Ship Week](https://khrobscureshipweek.tumblr.com/) that i'm participating in! chrome/mm is one of the most underrated ships ever and i really wanted to do an event to make some content for them.


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